


fe3h prompt collection

by CutiePi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Knight/Royalty, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Dating, First Meeting, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and plenty of canonverse too, just a sampling of stuff to look out for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CutiePi/pseuds/CutiePi
Summary: a series of short one-shots done as requests on twitter. check chapter titles for ships/premises, and chapter notes for more detailsmarked as complete, but any shorter oneshot prompts i fill will be added here, tooprompts are open! check my twitter @cutestofpis
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	1. Edelgard/Hilda: meeting the cute neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: this was technically published back in july, but i had to file a support ticket to get this to show up in the tags, so i bumped the published date up so it didnt get completely passed over. if youve seen this before... im back! sup!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a request for a bingo meme i did on twitter a few months ago (currently, all 6 chapters are for the bingo meme)
> 
> the prompt was edelgard/hilda + "hello extremely cute person living down the hall", so naturally i wrote modern au first meeting

Edelgard is studying.

Rather, Edelgard is trying to study. She would very much like to be studying, because she has an exam next week for one of the toughest classes she’s ever taken in her entire life. Her efforts are hindered, however, by the upbeat pop music one of her neighbors is  _ blasting _ loud enough that she can hear it down the hall. They’ve been at it for an hour now and show no signs of stopping, or of developing self-awareness and realizing how rude they are, which means Edelgard will just have to go tell them to quiet down herself.

Edelgard actually knows the source of the sound—Holst, her graduate-student neighbor. This isn’t the first time he’d unknowingly been loud enough to disrupt the entire floor, but she typically let in slide due to his friendliness, solid work ethic, and general apologetic nature anytime she  _ has _ had to confront him over it. He can be a bit like a kicked puppy when he upsets someone, in her experience, but she’ll power past it for today—she  _ has _ to do well on this exam, and this is, frankly, ridiculous.

She raps sharply on the door then waits, arms crossed, for Holst to open it. After a moment, the music—blessedly—shuts off, and then the door swings open.

Edelgard has a rebuke ready the moment Holst opens the door, but it dies when she sees the apartment’s occupant. Pink hair, half-up and still hanging nearly to her waist; eyes gleaming with merriment; and worst of all, a bright, dazzling smile that leaves Edelgard floundering as she realizes this is  _ absolutely _ not going to go the way she expected it to.

“Hello,” the stranger says cheerily, batting long eyelashes at her. Dear god. Edelgard fixates on them, frozen to the spot, and the woman’s bright smile dims the slightest bit at her lack of response. “Can I… help you?”

“You’re not Holst,” is the only thing that comes out of her mouth, and she has to restrain herself from smacking her forehead.  _ Wonderful first impression _ .

“Oh, no,” she giggles, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. It looks ridiculously silky. Edelgard’s eyes are magnetically drawn to the motion. “That’s my big brother! You see–” She leans against the door frame, one hip jutting out. “Holst is moving in with his boyfriend, but his lease is still active or whatever, and he  _ really _ wanted me to move out of our grandpa’s house, so–” She strikes a little pose. It should be obnoxious, but instead is, somehow,  _ extremely _ adorable. “Here I am! My name’s Hilda, by the way.” 

Hilda holds out her hand to shake. Edelgard blankly stares at it for a moment before her brain catches up to what’s going on and she takes her hand firmly. Hilda’s hands are  _ impossibly _ soft, completely unlike Edelgard’s rough, dry palms. And Edelgard is  _ finally _ forced to admit that no, she’s not hallucinating that sweet, light floral scent in the air—that’s Hilda’s perfume, and it smells so good she feels vaguely dizzy.

“Edelgard,” she says abruptly as she realizes she hasn’t  _ actually _ said anything. “My name is Edelgard, I live just down the hall. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Haha, wow,” Hilda says, like actually  _ says _ ‘ha ha’ out loud instead of laughing. Edelgard squints at her. “That is  _ such _ a pretty name. Is that German?” She puts a hand on her hip, popping it out, and gives Edelgard a slow once-over, a mischievous look in her eye. Edelgard feels herself going red. “You know, Holst never mentioned any cute young neighbors.”

Edelgard blinks, wide-eyed, and swallows nervously. “Yes. Well. We only spoke a few times, of course.”

Hilda laughs, for real this time. “Why ‘of course’? You’re so weird, Edel. Can I call you Edel?”

“Um,” Edelgard says, cheeks pink. Hilda has an adorable laugh.

“Great,” she says. “Anyway, Edel, it was so nice of you to stop by and introduce yourself! So nice to meet you.” She’s already stepping back into her apartment, one hand on the doorknob. “Really, we should hang out sometime! When I’m not busy, that is. Byeeeee.” With that, Hilda closes the door right in Edelgard’s face, leaving her alone in the hallway.

Edelgard takes a deep breath, in and out, processing that interaction. Hilda is really,  _ really _ cute. And, appearance-wise, exactly Edelgard’s type. And…

  
And she’s turned her music back on, and it’s once again thumping through the entire floor. Edelgard  _ forgot _ to tell Hilda to quiet down. Well, shit. She lets out a sigh, resigning herself to studying in the library for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hubert finds out about this and from now on happens to be over every time edelgards studying so he can tell hilda to keep it down himself. this also backfires because now hes ruining edelgards chances. hilda is the only winner


	2. Ferdinand/Hubert: accidental confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another bingo request for ferdibert + an accidental confession! i decided canonverse and a shitton of secondhand embarrassment. you know im always down to lovingly bully ferdinand

Ferdinand stands, stretching. “Ah! What a productive meeting. Excellent work, everyone!”

Byleth, packing up their papers, pauses for a moment to give him a nod. They’re the only one of his compatriots to acknowledge him—everyone else is quietly chatting amongst themselves, even though they surely heard him. He shrugs to himself, continuing on his merry way out. “I think I shall head to the stables,” he muses aloud. “I must ensure our noble steeds are prepared for our next battle!”

Again, no response from his fellows. Alas. But he does spy one friend who isn’t occupied with the other Strike Force members. Hubert is still seated, looking over the map laid out before him, which means it’s all too easy for Ferdinand to approach him, clap his shoulder, and say, cheerily, “Really, Hubert, do you ever rest? I believe our work is done for today.”

Ferdinand thinks— _ thinks _ —there’s amusement in Hubert’s voice as he replies, “Someone certainly has to keep this army running. We can’t all go frolicking with the horses.”

Once, Ferdinand would have bristled at the barb. Once it would have actually  _ been _ a barb, meant to insult and diminish him. But over the past few months, much has changed between them—there’s a mutual respect,  _ friendship _ , even. More, perhaps, Ferdinand thinks, though that’s probably just his mind getting away from him. An overactive imagination, his father used to say. Surely, he’s  _ imagining _ lingering looks, gentle touches, soft smiles meant just for him. They make his heart flutter in his chest, regardless.

He recognizes the comment as a friendly joke and laughs. “Yes, and what a fine job you do! The positioning you suggested for our next advance was genius. I must say, that was wonderful work.” He’s not above complimenting hard work when he sees it, of course, and Hubert’s one of the hardest workers he knows. Ferdinand gives him a pat on the shoulder. “Well, I should be off. Those horses won’t frolic by themselves, you know! Well done today, Hubert. I love you.”

Everything freezes.

Everyone in the room is staring at him. His hand is still hovering over Hubert’s shoulder, and he cannot move. It’s quiet as a tomb, up until Caspar lets out one earth-shakingly loud “HA!”

“I,” he says, but it barely makes a sound. He clears his throat and tries again. “I am so sorry. That was a slip of the tongue.”

“ _ Ooh _ ,” Linhardt murmurs. “Not good.”

“I.” Dorothea’s eyes are wide, flicking between him and Hubert; Caspar is stood up, hands braced on the table, grinning ear-to-ear; Linhardt’s head is propped lazily in his hand as he frowns at Ferdinand; and goddess knows he doesn’t  _ dare _ look at Byleth, or worse,  _ Edelgard _ . “I SHOULD BE GOING,” he says loudly, and then he turns and power-walks out of the cardinal’s room, closing the door behind him. He leans against it, willing himself to disappear, but he can  _ hear _ his comrades bursting into conversation the instant the door is closed, and the last thing he needs is the reminder that he  _ confessed his feelings _ , not only to Hubert but to the entire Black Eagles Strike Force. How humiliating; he shall never recover. It takes every ounce of willpower in his body to push himself forward, back to his room, the stables forgotten.

* * *

After he escapes the second floor, Ferdinand actually  _ trudges _ , in truly pathetic fashion, back to his room, steps slow and heavy. The stairs take what feels like ages, but finally,  _ finally _ , he’s outside his room, already a bit relieved that he can spend the rest of his miserable existence lying in bed and praying to be struck down for his blasphemy against the goddess’s chosen people. Perhaps it would be a bit delayed, on the goddess’s part, but better late than never.

Ferdinand lets himself in, sighing in relief and sagging against the door once he’s finally in private, much more at ease, now, despite his heartbreak. How foolish of him.

“There you are,” Hubert says, and Ferdinand  _ shrieks _ , jumping at least a foot in the air as his gaze finally lands on Hubert’s dark shadow, altogether easy to spot considering he’s standing directly in the center of the room. Ferdinand presses his back to his bedroom dorm, panting a little as he tries to regain his composure.

“ _ How did you beat me here _ ?” he whispers, nearly in hysterics.

Hubert gives him an annoyed look. “I know the Warp spell.”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says faintly, and then he pulls himself up, tries to at least appear like a nobleman, instead of a pathetic circus clown. “I see.”

“I thought,” Hubert says, haltingly, “It might be best. That we talk sooner, rather than later.”

“O-oh?” Ferdinand feels a pit of dread opening in his stomach. Rejection isn’t what he fears, not really; nor does he fear hatred, a rekindling of that tiresome rivalry that’s haunted so much of their acquaintanceship. No, what he fears—and the reason he eyes Hubert’s hands so carefully, searching for any sign of a threat—is something far more gruesome. He can imagine no strong reason for Hubert to kill him, but perhaps… he is a threat to Edelgard’s grand vision. An unwelcome distraction. Or maybe, Hubert will kill him merely for believing he could  _ ever _ hold a place in his heart when their radiant Emperor is so very far above him. Ferdinand shudders a little, gulping. “Whatever do you have to say?” he squeaks.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, chillingly, and he takes a step closer. “This can’t go on.”

Oh dear saints. “It-ah-what can’t go on?”

Hubert sighs. “After your display in the cardinal’s room, I should think the answer to that question would be obvious.”

Once again, Ferdinand is staring at Hubert’s hand, watching for the slightest flick, the barest hint of tension in the muscles. “Ah, yes, well, that was–”

“Save your excuses,” Hubert says coolly. He’s so very close now. Ferdinand’s in a cold sweat, averting his gaze entirely, until one of Hubert’s hands  _ moves _ . He flinches, just the slightest bit, but–

It comes up, ever-so-sweetly, to cup his cheek. His eyes go wide as his face is gently turned to Hubert’s. There’s a look in his eyes that takes his breath away—perhaps, he thinks dully, this is some torturous new method he’s devised. Or perhaps… “Ferdinand,” he breathes, “did you truly believe you could hide from me?”

An overactive imagination, his father had always called it. But Ferdinand is certain he does not imagine the sweet way Hubert’s lips meet his.


	3. Caspar/Linhardt: stealing clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for casphardt + "i am borrowing (stealing) your clothing". some pre-relationship modern au roommate shenanigans!

The weather on the way home from work is miserable, the morning’s clear skies having given way to rain clouds that are dedicated to dampening everyone’s mood. And, well, their bodies, also, because rain. But  _ mostly _ their moods, and those rain clouds may have succeeded on anyone else, but never on Caspar von Bergliez. In fact, despite the dripping rain and that touch of biting chill in the air, he hums to himself as he walks back to his apartment. He’s done for the weekend, which means things are already looking up.

Caspar lets himself in, kicking his shoes off—Lin  _ hates it _ when he tracks dirt and mud and “whatever else” through the apartment—and calls, “Hey, Lin, I’m home, you better not be naked!” as he heads into the living room. It wouldn’t be the first time—Linhardt likes to let it all hang out, though he’s usually nice enough to cover up whenever he’s not home alone.

Luckily, though, Lin’s on the couch, both awake and not naked. Very not naked, Caspar realizes, as he takes in the sight of him, and suddenly he’s having trouble thinking because–

“Hey, Caspar,” Linhardt says, yawning, bundled up in  _ Caspar’s sweatshirt _ .

“Uh,” Caspar says, intelligently. “That’s my hoodie.” He’d left it on the couch yesterday—and he hadn’t expected—he’d had no idea–

“Sorry,” Linhardt says. “It’s so cold in here, and my room is just  _ so far away _ …” He hams it up, playing the part of helpless maiden in distress, and normally Caspar would grin and tease him for being lazy—he can see the glimmer of laughter in Lin’s eyes, can see that he’s  _ expecting _ Caspar to fall right into routine, but he can’t, his mind sticking on  _ my sweatshirt Lin’s in my sweatshirt his body my sweatshirt mine _ –

Caspar blinks, giving himself a little shake. “Huh? Yeah, sorry. It’s fine.” He has a problem, he decides. He really,  _ really _ likes the way Lin looks in it; weirdly, he’s even starting to imagine how he looks  _ out _ of it, which, nope, shutting that down right there, that is a certified Caspar von Bergliez Bad Thought. Best friends do not imagine undressing best friends; it’s rule number one of best friendship! Or was that the one about the dogs? No, definitely the undressing one.

Lin’s frowning at him, pushing himself up a bit. “Are you alright? You look red.”

Caspar starts. “What?”

Wrong answer. Linhardt’s frown deepens, and he stands, coming over to him, Caspar’s sweatshirt hanging off his thin frame. Oh, Jesus. Lin’s always been a fan of oversize sweaters, so seeing him in a baggy hoodie is nothing new, but there’s a particular thrill in knowing it’s baggy because it’s sized to fit  _ Caspar _ . Because it’s  _ Caspar’s hoodie _ . Lin rolls up a sleeve and presses a hand to his forehead, his cheeks. “Hm,” he says. “You’re hot. It’s flu season, you know. Don’t tell me you got a fever from working in that… den of disease you call a supermarket.”

“Ah.” Linhardt standing close to him and touching his face is most definitely  _ not helping _ . Caspar’s pretty sure he’s going to combust. “I don’t, uh, I don’t think so. Think I might just be. Tired. From work. You know.”

Lin frowns. “You’re  _ never _ tired,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should take something.”

“No, no,” Caspar says quickly, ducking away from him. “I’m fine! Totally fine. Just gonna… take a nap. Sleep it off. You get it.” Then inexplicably,  _ bizarrely _ , he shoots a pair of finger guns at Lin. What?  _ What _ ? Caspar would shove his traitorous hands into his hoodie’s pockets, except he  _ can’t _ , because Linhardt is  _ still wearing Caspar’s hoodie _ . 

He’s going to die if he stays here. He smiles—it feels so fake on his face—and squeaks, “Anyway, see you later!” as he escapes, ducking into his room and all but slamming the door behind him. He flops onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow and groaning. Maybe, Caspar thinks, this whole crush thing has gotten out of control.

Linhardt watches Caspar all but run from him, frowning. Something’s clearly bothering him, but… Well, Caspar can’t keep a secret to save his life. He’ll surely break and tell him eventually. Shrugging, Linhardt returns to his place on the couch, curling up. He shoots one more glance at Caspar’s closed door before surreptitiously sniffing at his hoodie. It smells good, like Caspar’s body wash.

It smells like home.


	4. Caspar/Linhardt: fake dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for casphardt + fake dating! this like barely counts but its hard to do fake dating as a quick oneshot so whatever. canonverse, pre-timeskip

Linhardt’s in the library, working on Crest research. That’s completely normal. What’s less normal is that Caspar’s sitting across from him. Caspar  _ hates _ the library, vocally, and true to form, every second he spends there he’s kicking his legs and fidgeting and  _ whining _ .

“Linnnnnn,” he complains. “Can’t you hurry up so we can go get dinner?”

“You can go get dinner at any time,” Linhardt says patiently, flipping a page. If his goal was to convince Caspar to leave, he’s failed—he can feel Caspar’s pout without even looking at him.

“But then you won’t eat! I know you, I know you won’t!” He’s awfully accusatory, Linhardt thinks, considering that he had no intention of refuting his claims. 

“Quiet, Caspar, this is a  _ library _ .” A library that’s slowly losing occupants as the evening encroaches, perhaps, but a library just the same. Soon, they’ll be the last people here, and then Caspar can be as loud as he wants.

He’s never been good at being patient, opening his mouth to let out some other ear-shattering complaint. Before he gets the chance, though, there’s a hand on the table between them; Linhardt looks up to see some other boy leaning over him, grinning.

“This guy bothering you?” he says with an odd smirk.  _ Gross _ . Linhardt feels his mouth twisting down into a frown.

“He always bothers me,” he says flatly, surprised when he doesn’t hear Caspar sputtering indignantly. He hopes he didn’t take the jab personally. Oh, well. “I can handle him on my own, thank you.” He looks back to his book only to feel the guy lean in a bit closer.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. What do you say we run out and grab dinner on the town? My treat.” A wink, this time. Linhardt’s growing tired of him. Before he can say so, he feels a strong grip on his hand, and he looks across the table at Caspar, who’s glaring at the other student.

“Sorry,” he says tightly, almost a  _ growl _ , which, my goodness, “but we have plans.”

Linhardt blinks at Caspar, surprised. The other boy must be just as taken aback, as he leans back out of Linhardt’s personal space (thank every saint) and says, “What, are you serious?”

Caspar’s expression darkens. “ _ Obviously _ .” He looks at Linhardt and immediately his expression softens, and he smiles reassuringly. His eyes say  _ play along _ . “Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he says, which  _ takes Linhardt out _ . Pretty?  _ Pretty? _ “I’ll take care of this.”

“Um,” he says, eyes wide as saucers. The shape of Caspar’s plan is immediately clear to him. That doesn’t make it less  _ shocking _ . “Thank you…” He searches for a pet name, something a person would reasonably call someone they’re romantically involved with. He lands, a bit clumsily, on “Dear?”

Caspar beams, then his face once again morphs as he glares up at the boy. “Yeah, so, leave us alone, now. He’s not interested.”

Linhardt feels the boy’s gaze on him, questioning, and he has to tear his eyes away from Caspar to look up at him. “Right,” he says firmly. “Not interested. Caspar and I already have plans.”

The boy scowls but backs off, sulking out of the library. Caspar eyes him the entire time, turning in his chair to watch him leave; as soon as he’s rounded the corner, he turns back to Linhardt, smiling, and he removes his hand. Linhardt misses it immediately.

“Are you alright, Lin?” he asks, the picture of concern.

“Me?” He blinks and gives himself a mental shake to recover from that bizarre experience. “Yes, I’m totally fine.”

“Good.” Caspar sags in his chair, relieved. He really does embody every one of his emotions, Linhardt thinks. “I’m really sorry about that,” he says, peeking shyly at him. “I just, uh,  _ really _ wanted that guy to leave you alone, and he didn’t look like he’d take no for an answer.”

Linhardt shakes his head. He knows his eyes are still wide as he tries to reconcile this shy, awkward Caspar with the fiercely defensive one he’d seen just a moment ago. “Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t have. It’s alright, I…” He gives himself another little shake.  _ Focus _ . “I appreciate it,” he says, a bit awkwardly.

Caspar beams at him, brilliantly. “Oh, good! I was worried I mighta made you uncomfortable.” He laughs awkwardly, then says, “So… are you ready for dinner now?”

Linhardt lets out a long-suffering sigh; it’s all for show. The fact is, he couldn’t go back to his research if he  _ tried _ . His heart is, oddly, racing, and he can feel that his cheeks are still warm from whatever just happened. No, he thinks, better to just give in. “Yes, fine,” he says. “Go on, I’ll put my books away and come join you in a bit.”

Caspar’s already leaping to his feet, though he hesitates for a moment. “You’re not just saying that to get rid of me, right? You’re  _ actually _ going to come eat, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Linhardt says, annoyed, and with that Caspar beams and takes off. He sighs, sinking into his chair. He can’t believe he’s so  _ flustered _ over just… Caspar. But there had been something strangely appealing about the fantasy that Caspar was actually jealous…

He gives himself a shake. Enough of that. He packs up his books and heads down to the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> caspar choosing to fake date lin: haha hope this doesnt awaken anything in me  
> linhardt getting fake dated: hope this doesnt awaken anything in me!!  
> the guy who just wanted to flirt with a cute boy in the library: wh


	5. Caspar/Linhardt: knight/royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for casphardt + knight/royalty au! these are always super fun. this ones got a side of secret relationship, too!

“Your Highness!”

The voice snaps Linhardt out of his doze. He blinks awake—that’s right, he’d fallen asleep in the gardens, tucked in that little spot under the tree where no one could ever find him. No one, that is, save one person.

“Caspar,” he says, voice still a sleepy mumble. With great effort, he raises his head to see his retainer trying to push his way over to him without crushing any plants under heavily-armored feet. The sight of him makes him smile, suppressing a laugh.

“Your Highness,” Caspar says again once he’s made it to the clear patch of grass beneath the tree. Despite his proximity, his voice remains painfully loud. “I’ve been looking all over for you. His Majesty wants you in the, uh.” His face screws up in concentration, and Linhardt’s smile widens.  _ Cute _ . “Was it the conservatory? No, the library.” His voice drops as he tries to remember, a hand to his head. “No, wait–”

“Honestly, Caspar,” Linhardt says with a sigh. He sits up, but absolutely refuses to stand just yet. He pats the spot next to him impatiently. “Come, sit. My father can wait.”

Caspar’s brow furrows. “But L-uh, sire, he said it was important, and I’m already in trouble for losing track of you–”

Linhardt rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. I’m perfectly safe within the palace walls. I hardly need my personal guard with me at all hours, do I?”

For the first time, that careful knightly professionalism Caspar’s been keeping drops, and he grins shyly. “I mean, don’t you  _ want _ him?”

Linhardt huffs. “Caspar, please.”

“I’m just saying,” Caspar says, too-casual, with a little shrug of his shoulders. “If you don’t like me being your personal guard, I bet there’s plenty of others around who could take my place.”

“That is  _ not _ what I–”

“I mean, I know Ferdinand would  _ kill _ to have to honor of protecting the prince–”

“ _ Enough _ ,” he says. Caspar’s grin doesn’t diminish in the slightest, despite his harsh tone. He sighs. “Come here already, will you?  _ Yes _ , it’s an order.”   
  


Without another word, Caspar plops roughly next to his beneath the tree. “Always a good spot, here,” he says. “It’s so quiet.”

“It was, before you got here,” Linhardt murmurs. Caspar ignores the comment.

“It almost doesn’t feel like we’re within the palace walls,” he says, more to himself than anything. “Like we’re out in the woods somewhere.”

Linhardt goes quiet. So many times, he’d dreamed of that freedom, out far away from the palace, liberated from his father’s expectations and the tiresome rules of social etiquette. Caspar notices his silence and nudges him.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Linhardt lies. “I’m just still sleepy.”

Caspar snorts. “You’re  _ always _ sleepy.”

“And you always indulge me.” Linhardt smiles a bit, thinking back fondly on all the times Caspar had let him sleep on his shoulder or sprawled over his lap.

Caspar smacks his forehead. Linhardt thinks, idly, that it must  _ hurt _ with that great iron glove on. “Indulge— _ shoot _ , your father! We’ve gotta go!” Caspar leaps to his feet and pulls Linhardt up with him. As soon as he’s on his feet, Linhardt leans in and presses a kiss to Caspar’s cheek. He sputters. “Wh-what was  _ that _ for?”

Linhardt smiles, squeezing his hand. “You saved me, my great handsome knight. From the terrors of sleep that threatened to claim me.” He nuzzles at Caspar’s pink cheeks. “My hero.”

“ _ Linnnn _ ,” Caspar whines. “Come on, not here. What if we get caught?”

“Oh, no one comes out here, anyway.” He steps in closer, locking his hands behind Caspar’s neck.

“You don’t know that,” Caspar says, cheeks going redder by the minute. “You know how the servants are. They’ll leap at the chance for a bit of good gossip.”

“Then we’ll have to give them something worthwhile to gossip about,” he murmurs, ducking his head in close, “because there’s no chance they haven’t caught onto us yet.”

Caspar hesitates for a moment more. Linhardt can see the gears turning in his head, the way he’s slowly giving in. “Okay,” he says in a rush. “But not for too long, okay, because–”

“Yes, yes,” Linhardt drawls. “My father. I told you–” His nose brushes Caspar’s, and he smiles. “He can wait.”

The way Caspar catches his lips with his own is all the confirmation he needs—they’ll have to keep his father waiting for a long, long time.


	6. Caspar/Linhardt: meeting the cute neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more casphardt, this one with the same prompt as the edelgard/hilda, "hello extremely cute person living down the hall". shockingly i went pretty hard on this one. this happens to me frequently

Linhardt’s awoken by a loud knock on his door. He takes a moment to regain his bearings—he’s sprawled on the couch, his laptop set aside. It’s Saturday, which means he can’t possibly have anything to do, which means this person knocking—as if sensing his thoughts, they knock  _ again _ —is clearly overstepping and can wait for him to get up. One more, insistent knock does it; he rolls off the couch, briefly checking to make sure he’s wearing pants, and then blearily says, “I’m coming, I’m coming,” as he plods over to the door.

The odd thing is, he doesn’t  _ know _ the person standing there when he opens up. In fact, he’s quite certain he’s never seen him before in his life; he couldn’t forget eyes that shockingly blue. He gives himself a little shake; clearly, his thoughts are still lingering in his dream world. “Can I help you?” he asks, trying to sound appropriately annoyed.

The man at the door flashes him a dazzlingly bright smile. “Hi! Uh, sorry,” he winces apologetically, “were you napping? I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Napping?” Linhardt squints at him. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Uh.” The man shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, brow pinched with worry. Linhardt can’t believe how guilty he looks. He hasn’t even given him a proper scolding yet. “It’s, uh, 2:30 pm.”

“Oh, really?” Linhardt’s surprised by that. Normally, he’d have woken up two hours ago. He supposes he  _ was _ up later than usual. “Ah, well, that’s fine, then. I overslept.”

“Oh!” The man lights up just like that, beaming. Linhardt nearly staggers under the light he radiates. “Okay then! Um, I just wanted to introduce myself-uh, I can’t really shake.”

Linhardt, for the first time, takes notice of what he’s holding—a platter of cookies. Chocolate chip. They look a bit burnt. “Ah. What’s this, then?”

“Oh! Oh, shoot,” his face twists into a frown, “I’m really messing this up, hang on.” He spins away, his back to Linhardt, and begins muttering to himself. Hyping himself up? Linhardt lips twitch upwards, amused despite himself. Finally, the man loudly says, “Okay!” and turns back to face him.

“Hello, neighbor!” he says cheerily. “My name is Caspar von Bergliez, and I just moved in down the hall. Here, take a cookie!”

Linhardt stares for a moment after his rehearsed introduction, face carefully schooled into an unimpressed expression. “What about the handshake?”

Caspar’s face drops. “Oh, yeah, the handshake— _ shoot _ , okay. Can I come in?”

Linhardt blinks. “Um, what?”

“Great!” he says.  _ Loud _ . His new neighbor is loud. Joy. With that, he pushes into Linhardt’s apartment, looking around. “Woah, nice place. Kinda messy, though.” He slips into the kitchen—Linhardt would be concerned with the ease with which he navigates his apartment, but he supposes that the layout’s the same as his unit, anyway—and sets the tray of cookies on the counter. “Man, when’s the last time you did your dishes?”

Linhardt follows him into the kitchen. “Commenting on a person’s cleaning habits doesn’t make for a very good first impression, you know,” he huffs, except. Wait. Caspar is, unprompted, tidying his sink, starting on the dishes.  _ Bizarre _ . Linhardt stares at him as he loads the dishwasher. “Um.”

“Oh!” Caspar starts. He hurriedly shuts the water off and spins to face Linhardt, wiping wet, soapy hands on his jeans. “Sorry—jeez, I’m totally ruining this, I just saw—and I wanted to–” He winces, hanging his head. “Sorry.”

“Um,” Linhardt says again. He tries to imagine having an instinctive need to clean up messes, no matter whose they were. It sounds useful, he thinks, if extremely exhausting. Regardless, it  _ had _ been a sweet gesture. “That’s alright. Caspar?”

He lights up at the sound of his name. “Yes! That’s me! And you are…”

“Linhardt,” he says, deliberately  _ not _ thinking about how cute his face is when he smiles, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling. “Linhardt von Hevring.”

“Nice to meet you!” Suddenly there’s a damp hand in his, shaking enthusiastically. Damn, he’s got a strong grip. Up close, Linhardt’s nearly blinded by the natural light Caspar seems to exude—eyes as blue as a sunny day, smile breathtakingly bright, every inch of him shining and optimistic.

_ Bother _ , Linhardt thinks. He’s got a crush.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he says, and Caspar looks inordinately pleased.

“Sorry again about cleaning your apartment.”

Linhardt raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m  _ upset _ about that? I wish all my neighbors did my dishes for me.”

Caspar laughs heartily. Ah, good, somehow that’s even cuter. “Yeah, I bet. Well, no one else would answer when I knocked, so you’re the last person I was gonna try to meet today. I could stick around a bit, help you clean up.”

“Wait,” Linhardt says, “I’m the only one who answered the door?”

“Yeah?” Caspar shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe everyone else was just busy.” He laughs sheepishly. “I kinda thought the weekend was the best time to go around meeting people…”

“Caspar,” Linhardt says with a sigh, “I think they probably looked through their peepholes, saw a man they’d never seen before, and decided it was for the best to ignore it.” Like he would’ve done, if he were in his right mind. Alas.

“Oh,” Caspar says, deflating. “That makes sense.”

“It does,” Linhardt agrees. “Now, then, as for that offer to clean…”

Caspar, once again, lights up with a firework. “Oh, yeah, I can help! Here, eat some cookies. It’s not as though I have anyone else to give them to!”

As Linhardt sits on his couch munching on burnt cookies and Caspar bustles around his apartment cleaning, he thinks it might just be the start of a beautiful friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> my twitter is [@cutestofpis](https://twitter.com/cutestofpis). feel free to send prompts there!


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